


I'll Come Back To Haunt You

by panchostokes (badwolfrun)



Series: Prompt Fics [25]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mourning, ghost au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2021-02-08 06:28:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21471538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfrun/pseuds/panchostokes
Summary: Greg thinks he's alone in the breakroom.
Relationships: Greg Sanders/Nick Stokes
Series: Prompt Fics [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540795
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	I'll Come Back To Haunt You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rai_Knightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rai_Knightshade/gifts).

> for rai, who sent me so many wonderful prompts! 
> 
> I could not write this fic without thinking and listening to "Haunt" by Bastille

_“If I die, I’m haunting you first.”_

Greg shut and wiped his eyes with a shaky hand as he sat in the break room alone with a cup of instant ramen and a silence that was usually filled with laughter, with ranting, with words spoken with a Texan twang that was no longer possible.

Well, that wasn’t completely true, he supposed to himself. There’s always Bobby Dawson.

He couldn’t stand to even hear the accent, anyway. Too painful, too much of a reminder of what he could no longer have. He didn’t even want to think about it anymore, wanted to just forget and repress and _move on._

But it wouldn’t even take an analysis from David Hodges to prove that there were traces of him floating in every particle of the air in the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

He cursed at himself for the tears that fell into his cup of soup that _he _once teased him for eating. He couldn’t even eat some damn noodles without thinking about him and crying. 

“So stupid…” he muttered as he threw his spoon down and buried his head in his hands. He was grateful for the silence in the lab, save for the small beeps of machinery and the hushed whispers from fellow mourners. A unspoken pact had been made on grave shift to settle under a shroud of sadness for as long as it took for him to become a fond memory, rather than a devastating loss. 

They would be waiting for a long time, because Greg felt like he would _never _be over it. 

He couldn’t even look at a television screen without seeing his face.

His _dead _face.

He leaned forward, his elbows rested on the table as he felt two hands grip his shoulders, rubbing out the tension spiking his body upward.

At first he thought it was Sara or Catherine, but the hands were not feminine. They were gentle, yes, but had a certain firmness that only a man’s could have. 

Warrick, perhaps? Though nobody had seen Warrick since he smashed the monitors in the A/V lab. 

Grissom? But even the idea of _Gil Grissom, _of all people, trying to comfort Greg couldn’t crack a smile across his face.

He probably wouldn’t smile or laugh ever again anyway. 

He kept running through a mental checklist of who would feel as if they were close enough to Greg to offer him a comforting touch, when he finally opened his eyes and saw that there were _no hands _on his shoulder.

“Told you,” a voice whispered into his ear with a Texas accent that made goosebumps spread over his skin like wildfire. 

“N-Nick?” Greg asked, filled with a sudden hope that the events they saw on the monitor was some sort of cruel joke or fake footage. He spun wildly in his chair, looked for the source of the voice, but there was nobody in the room but him.

And yet, there was some sort of low hum, a soft _buzz _in the wires, one of the lights started to flicker on and off, before he felt a touch on his shoulder _again, _this time, more of a light little tap.

“You didn’t think you’d get rid of me _that _easily, did you?” the voice whispered in one ear. 

He felt a hand pat him on the chest, and felt an odd sort of comfort in a haunted solitude.


End file.
